


Caustic

by Apetslife



Series: Cryptic [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy's Spike problem is now ANGEL'S Spike problem. Sequel to Cryptic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caustic

Sequel to "Cryptic."

"Come home with me," he'd said, like it was that damn simple. God,  
after all these years he could still surprise himself with his own  
stupidity, sometimes. Spike was still a vampire. Unsouled,  
essentially evil, and, despite numerous setbacks, humiliations and  
defeats over the years, frighteningly used to getting his own way.  
Angel was tempted to blame himself for this, but he knew for a FACT  
that there hadn't been a thing Angelus hadn't tried towards the  
ultimate goal of beating the willfulness *ha!* right out of his  
childe.

And a hundred years or so of complete autonomy hadn't helped a bit.  
Spike was driving him slowly insane. And they'd only been in the car  
for an hour. The black ribbon was winding away under the tires and  
headlights, and Angel found himself pressing harder and harder on the  
accelerator, as if getting home faster would help. *You invited him  
to LIVE with you. NO sex is worth this...*

"I am the anti-CHRIST! I am an anarCHIST!" There was headbanging  
happening. In Angel's convertible. The fact that the radio wasn't  
on didn't seem to have deterred the younger vampire a bit. He was  
reclining happily, dusty boots on the dash, cigarette hand dangling  
over the side of the door, blond head bobbing to music only he could  
hear. That he was busy translating for his sire's abused ears.

Angel didn't know whether to laugh in relief that his Loki-childe was  
back, as annoying as ever and apparently not permanently scarred, or  
to reach over and smack him hard enough to make him SHUT. UP. He'd  
told him, no feet on the dash. He'd told him, no smoking in the  
car. And he'd DEFINITELY told him no singing. Spike had stared at  
him as if he'd gone insane. So much for proper deference. He  
contented himself with a hard glare.

"Oh, wot? Not another ride in a car with some wanker what can't  
appreciate proper music..." Spike was grinning at him, but there was  
a dark memory there, Angel could hear it in his voice.

"Another?" He asked mildly. Just wanting to know.

"Slayer doesn't fancy the Ramones, much..." Spike trailed off into  
silence, and stared out into the night, quiet. Finally.

"Well, I can't say as I blame her, really."

"NATurally. Not your golden girl, oh heavens, horrors no." Angel  
almost winced at the bitterness. *Jesus, Spike, what HAPPENED to you?  
*

"Spike...not THAT. The Ramones give me a headache, that's all."

"Really?" Spike perked up again, swinging his gaze from whatever was  
so fascinating in the black emptiness at the side of the highway back  
to Angel. Who clenched his jaw and set his teeth, knowing what was  
coming, staring straight ahead. Had to concentrate on the road,  
after all...

"TWENNYTWENNYTWENNY FOUR HOURS TO-GO-O-O, I WANNA BE  
SEDATED...NOTHING TO DO-"

He actually had a nice voice. Angel decided to concentrate on that.

*****************

His sire'd never been a great one for light conversation, but this  
was getting beyond boring. Angel was pretending very hard that he  
was makin' this road trip all alone, in his traditional broody  
silence. Spike was HAPPY. He wanted to play, and the poof wasn't  
cooperating a bit. Of course, he wasn't pushing TOO hard...he didn't  
want to end up chucked out on the side of the road, two hours to dawn  
an' noplace to go. Noplace else to go anyway, really, unless he  
wanted to head back to good ol' Sunnyhell and his bottle an' the  
Slayer an'...no. Not going back there, ever. He broke off the song,  
lyrics touching just a mite too close to home. Sighed, and dropped  
his feet to the floor.

Angel actually looked at him, startled. No glare, this time.

"Fine, you great sod. Since hells know you're too uptight to enjoy  
music, an' you keep sayin' no to THIS-" he reached over and cupped  
Angel's crotch with one hand, had that hand, predictably, swatted  
away, "-talk. What's this nonsense about lawyers?"

"It's...complicated." Spike could see those big white hands  
tightening on the steering wheel. *Oooh, complicated ain't the  
word...*

"We've got nothing but time here, 'less you've figured out a way to  
make this crate go any FASTER with your foot on the floor." Angel  
flushed a bit, eased up on the gas, and relaxed. Just a little.

"There's this law firm...Wolfram and Hart. They're demon owned and  
operated, and they've been around, well, forever, as far as I can  
tell. Basically, they brought Darla back as human, hunted up Dru,  
she TURNED Darla, they tormented me till I went a little insane, and  
I fired Cordelia and Wesley and Gunn, and then I set Dru and Darla on  
fire, then I fucked Darla, realized I'd almost lost everything, and  
now I'm trying to make it better." It was a good thing he didn't  
have to breathe, Spike thought. That was the most words together  
he'd ever heard out of Angel's gob.

"Sweet fuck. So, what happened? Did you take 'em down? Fire an'  
lightning an' the wrath of Angel?" Maybe L.A. WOULD be fun.

"No. I've given it up."

"They screwed about with your head, an' all that, an' that's IT?"

"Yeah. I've got to get back to basics." Angel sounded determined,  
and even a little wistful.

"I'll give you basics...they oughtta die, slow an' painful."

"A lot of them already did." Heavy guilt. Spike snorted, and leaned  
back again. WHAT a fuckin' nancyboy. *Oh, an' like you're any  
better? So damn pleased to see your Sire again, to have him want you  
around, that you practically wagged your tail when you saw 'im?* He  
looked over, saw that big graceful body, strong hands, perfect  
face...*no pride, me, but I'm still not complainin'. So. Don't make  
him toss you out before you even get home, Will...*

"Right then. Best thing for 'em, I say. What about your pets?"

"What pets?"

"The HUMANS, you sod."

"I, er...fired them, like I said."

"And..."

"And I was, well, unpleasant to them for a while."

"So..."

"Well, they decided to take me back. Provisionally."

"WHAT? THEY're takin' YOU back?"

"Yeah, I'm kind of...working for them, now." Angel was hunched up  
even more than usual, ducking his head down between his shoulders.  
That kicked-puppy look on his face that Spike had only ever seen  
around the Slayer, before.

*OK...no makin' fun, now. Might be nice to not be the only  
bollocksed-up one of a pair, for a change. Seems the ponce has been  
havin' troubles of his own, an' who are you to-" Nope. Didn't work.

*********************

Angel looked irritatedly over at his convulsed childe. Spike was  
literally gasping for unneeded air, hooting, trying to make words.  
It wasn't THAT funny.

"You're working' (gasp) for Cor- (gasp) Cor- (gasp) CORDEEELIA?  
BAHhahahahahah!" He lost it again.

"She's matured a lot, you know. And there's Wesley, too-" *OK,  
obvious mistake.* Spike just howled louder.

"Spike, knock it off. SPIKE." The younger vampire finally wiped  
tears from his face, giggled, and straightened up. Sniggered. Was  
silent. Laughed, once and hard. Silence.

"Er, Peaches?"

"What?"

"Can't fault your stones for tryin', but do you really think that's  
gonna work out, an' all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well...have you ever HAD a boss? Someone orderin' you around,  
tellin' you what's what? Never mind who, though that dozy mare an'  
Wussly are just icin'."

"Well, there was Darla..."

Spike scoffed. "Who was so busy ridin' you into the ground, she  
never had a chance to tell you what to do. No, like a REAL boss."

"I guess not."

"Hate to tell you this, luv, but you're not the sort to take  
direction well."

Angel pondered that for a moment, still staring out into the night.  
He could see the lights of Los Angeles on the horizon, reflected off  
the bottom of the ever-present smog. Rather like Hell, he thought.  
Spike was right, this wasn't going to be easy. More like torture, in  
fact. He sighed.

"Well, I'll just have to learn." Which sent Spike off again.

"Spike, it's not FUNNY!"

Spike unexpectedly sobered. "No, it ain't. Rather pathetic, but  
there you have it. Dunno if you'll be able to swing it, but it  
should be interestin' to watch." He lit another cigarette. Angel  
hoped he wouldn't ash on the floor.

"Um, about that, Spike..." He steeled himself. This would NOT be  
pleasant, but had to be said.

"Yeah?"

"I think it might be better if you...didn't. Watch."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, things are a little...delicate right now, with Cordy and the  
rest. And if I show up for," shudder, "WORK, with you in tow...the  
last time you were in town you tried to kill us all. It would just  
make things difficult." *And there's no way I'm going to tell them  
I'm SLEEPING with you...*

"You're gonna lock me in the cellar, then, an' drag me out when you  
got an itch to scratch, I take it?" Spike's voice was low, and he  
couldn't read it at all.

"Well, I was thinking, a nice apartment...?" That little forgive-me  
smile had worked on Wesley, maybe it would on Spike...

"Stop the car."

"Spike, we're on the high-"

"I said STOP the BLOODY FUCKIN' CAR."

"Can we just TALK-"

Spike lunged for the door, hauling himself up over and bracing his  
feet on the seat *He WOULDN'T oh SHIT!* and was almost tossed out  
when tires screeched and burned as the convertible fishtailed to a  
halt at the side of the highway. He hopped over the side, and  
started walking. Towards L.A, true, but Angel wasn't counting on  
that meaning anything. Oh, he had really fucked this up.

"Spike, get back here." He could hear the feet retreating, could  
still see the glimmer of blond hair in the lights of the occasional  
passing 18-wheeler. "Spike, I'm sorry, please?"

*GodDAMNit.* "Spike..." He got out of the car and ran, catching up  
easily. Fell into step, shortening his strides. *Time was, I would  
have made him stretch...*

"If something happens to my car, I'm never going to forgive you."  
Anything, just to say something. He got no reaction.

He'd forgotten. Spike's priorities had always been simple,  
straightforward, and all-encompassing. Love, feed, fight, and  
entertain himself (by means other than the first three), in that  
order. And he'd never been able to accept, or understand, when those  
around him didn't quite live according to those rules.

"Spike, you know I don't want to hide you away. I'm not ashamed of  
you." *Well, maybe a little when you sing in public.* "I've just  
got...responsibilites. Besides you."

"That what I am?"

"You KNOW you're more than that." At least he was talking, no matter  
how short and clipped. *I have NEVER been good at this. I am SO BAD  
at this. Oh, help.* "I need you around. I need you to help me. I  
mean, who better than you to show me how to be the worst employee the  
world's ever seen?"

Spike flashed him a grin, but kept walking. OK, more grovelling?  
Much more of this and he was going to lose his spine entirely. This  
sucked. He HAD been dealing with humans for too long. He let his  
gameface flicker on, felt the rumble in his chest.

"And, most importantly, I. AM. YOUR. SIRE. Boy. Get back to the car  
before I remind you of EXACTLY what that means."

Spike stopped, stared at him for a long moment. Angel tensed for the  
strike. Spike just stared. Smiled again, and nodded.

"Right, ducks. Just makin' sure you weren't a COMPLETE pansy, these  
days."

And he turned around and strolled back towards the car. Whistling.  
Leaving Angel gaping after him.

*Boredom. What was so terrible about boredom, again?*

******************

"I don't care WHAT your soddin' boss thinks, I am NOT gonna be put up  
in some flat like a high-priced whore! That was Darla's gig!" The  
rest of the trip had been fairly peaceful, what with his sire holdin'  
his hand the whole way, but the minute they stepped in the door and  
Spike admired the size of the place...

"Cordelia is NOT my boss, Spike, and I...am not going to have this  
conversation with you." He stomped up the stairs, out of the lobby,  
and Spike looked after him. Right. Time to go shag some bollocks  
back into the bugger, before all this soul-boy crap made him heave.  
He chased Angel up the stairs, and burst through a closed door.  
Angel smirked at him from the bed. The giant bed with the wine-dark  
sheets and the black satin comforter...Spike swallowed hard.

"Took you long enough."

"Oh, you're a flamin' comedian tonight, you are." Spike paced  
nervously, found the bottle he knew Angel always kept around,  
unscrewed the top and took a long swallow. Single malt. Always the  
best.

"William, come here." And there was that Sire-tone, drawing him over  
to the bed like he was on a string. Angel pulled him between his  
knees from where he sat, and rubbed long strokes up and down the  
backs of his legs, hips to knees, and back up. An' how long had it  
been, since a lover had known where to touch? Too bloody long. He  
sighed, capped the bottle, and set it on the floor, and pushed Angel  
back till he was laying flat.

"Spike, I do want you here."

"I want you here too, luv." Leer, because it was always easier to  
just get to the sex.

"No, more than that. I'll tell Cordelia and Wes and Gunn you're  
here, if you want me to. And you can stay here if you want, though  
you WILL obey house rules. I want you to stay."

"You always such a pushover these days, Peaches?"

"I guess so." And Spike was drowning in smiling brown eyes, *bet he  
doesn't smile enough, lately,* and so damn happy he was afraid he was  
gonna GET a soul. Some backwards-magic thing that he couldn't quite  
think about clearly enough to work through. *Oh yeah, the Big Bad,  
me. Haven't felt this good in a hundred years, though Dru an' I  
tried. He's safety, he's home, an' he's not chuckin' me out...* He  
sighed a little, and leaned down, and pressed the softest kiss onto  
his Sire's lips. Lips that kept smiling, and parted, and let his  
tongue in to play. Hands came up and pulled lightly at his ears,  
moving back into his hair to clutch and bring his mouth closer. That  
sweet dance, between his lips, as Angel sucked at the lower one, then  
ran his tongue around inside, and oh the taste. It had only been a  
few hours, but the TASTE...

Spike heard himself making little kitten sounds, and couldn't bring  
himself to care. He was settled neatly between Angel's thighs, and  
those huge hands were holding his head still, and all he could do was  
rock and moan, rock and moan, against him and into his mouth. They  
were still fully clothed when Angel rolled him over and came down on  
top of him, still just pushing at each other with their hips, and  
this time there WASN'T a rush, and Spike felt himself relaxing  
completely, for the first time in a very long time. Almost boneless  
when Angel stripped him gently, kissing down his body with little  
nips that made him shudder and gasp and breathe. And pliant when  
Angel rubbed hands down his body, hard enough not to tickle, how he'd  
always loved it. He felt sharp teeth just resting on his hipbone,  
cool breathless mouth against his skin, and just savored it, lying  
still for an instant.

Then he was up and moving, rolling and dragging a startled Angel  
fully onto the bed, and the peace disappeared as he just threw  
himself at his Sire. He spared a brief moment to wonder if it would  
always be like this, desperate and a little insane, and then he was  
lost.

****************

Even when he'd been just-turned, Angel didn't remember Willian  
NEEDING him like this. His small hands were everywhere as he pulled  
Angel down into him, running down his back in quick strokes, fingers  
digging into his buttocks and leaving marks, then curving around to  
hold his waist, grab at his arms. Legs twining with his hard enough  
to hurt. Spike's eyes were a little wild, blue almost filled with  
black, now, and his hair was standing on end in white-blond  
curls...he looked about fifteen years old.

"Will...easy now..." He gentled his childe with his voice, like he'd  
always been able to, and reached down between them to where their  
cocks were rubbing together, burning him. Held them both  
together. "I wilna leave you again, Childe, I swear it." And he  
knew he wasn't Angelus, knew he wasn't the sire Spike remembered, but  
maybe this would do, maybe it would be enough...

It seemed to be what Spike needed, because he unwound again, just a  
little, and let himself be kissed. Angel ran a tongue down his long  
throat, feeling the absence of pulse under his lips and how that felt  
just RIGHT, letting his weight bear down and press the smaller  
vampire into the mattress. He stroked the throbbing lengths in his  
hands, hard and sure, and caught the up-BUCK of Spike's hips in the  
cradle of his own.

"Aye, boy, that's it now. Let me in." He was talking the Irish  
again, and couldn't help himself, not with his cock in his hand and  
his boy underneath him, and he needed this as much as Spike, he knew  
suddenly. Needed to be needed, needed to be understood and accepted,  
and *FUUUCK oh FUUU-* needed to be let in, just. like. this.

Years of practice, and he knew that body better than he knew his own,  
and apparently it went both ways, since Spike had managed to lift his  
hips and guide Angel into his body in one long move. The cool, tight  
slickness around him, not burning him like a human but JUST right,  
taking his whole length in a push down that had Angel's hands fisting  
in the coverlet, his weight on his forearms, as Spike pulled and  
clutched with both hands at his hips. He reared up, eyes burning  
gold, and grabbed those clever little hands, pinning them to the bed  
above their heads. Spike wanted to be fucked? Far be it from Angel  
to deny him that.

He slammed himself home and Spike yelped, fangs dropping as he  
twisted, helpless underneath Angel. *Sometimes it is SO good to be  
the bigger one...* He hauled Spike's legs up over his shoulders,  
opening him completely, angling him right...and started the rhythm.  
Decades of fucking Spike, and this never got old. In and out, and  
the tight muscles pulling at him, holding him like he belonged  
there...out and IN and IN and oh jesus Will was making that noise  
again, the high, animal one he always denied, after, but that made  
Angel hard, harder, was that even POSSIBLE?

"Sire...Angel...ohgodohFUCKANGEL! Angelussss..." Hissed through  
sharp teeth, and Spike was stroking himself because Angel couldn't  
remember how to move his arms, just his hips in this in and out and  
sweetness...strong pale body under him, so beautiful, muscles  
rippling and bunching as Spike tried to sit UP under the force of his  
strokes, and pulled hard at his own jerking, drooling cock--looked  
hard enough to cut glass--and Spike was staring into his eyes and  
clamping down inside and spurting and howling and Angel was drowning  
in gold snapping teeth shut in that white throat and  
commmmiiiinnggggg....

*********************

Christ in a racecar, he thought he'd lost his mind. Last one was  
good, this one much better, an' if they kept on improving like this,  
Spike was gonna end up fucked literally to death. He just knew it.  
He purred a little, complete satisfaction rolling through him as his  
Sire hauled the covers up around their bodies, still touching, and  
curled himself around his childe. His. Spike knew it, had always  
known it no matter how he kicked and screamed and battled against  
it. Soul or not, blood was blood, and he was fully owned by the  
demon currently petting him like a cat and lapping at the holes in  
his throat. He knew it, the demon knew it, and for the first time in  
a hundred years, all was right in Spike's world.

"Angelus?"

"Hmmm?" Still licking at his throat, and he could feel a deeper purr  
starting behind him. Oh yeah, the ponce was lovin' this too.

"I still say you're gonna be a piss-poor workin' man." And this  
little exercise in domination was Exhibit A...

"I'll have to get promoted fast then, won't I?" And Spike grinned,  
and laughed a little, and curled into strong arms, to sleep the day  
away.


End file.
